


always been looking for something to lose

by restless5oul



Series: even when we're breaking (i'll be loving you) [2]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Baku 2016, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Monaco 2016, Post-Spain 2016, Puppy dog Carlos, Sad Max, Still dorks and they're still in love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, We don't like Jos Verstappen, hand holding, mostly angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7171388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restless5oul/pseuds/restless5oul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there were things he both meant and didn't mean to do. most of them revolved around the fact that he had fallen in love with his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. falling.

**Author's Note:**

> technically follows on from 'you say you're always by my side' by can be read separately.

Managing expectations was something that Max and Carlos had always done reasonably well. But the expectations had never been stacked higher than when Max had made the switch to Red Bull. No longer his teammate, Carlos could only watch from afar as the pressure mounted, higher and higher, but his best friend never wavered, never even broke a sweat. He approached the Spanish Grand Prix like any other, in fact Carlos thought he was probably more nervous about racing his home grand prix. And like he always did, Carlos managed his expectations, and finished a successful sixth place, all in all he was pretty happy with his race. But that was nothing compared to Max. Who managed, succeeded and smashed to pieces all the expectations pushed on him by winning his first race and becoming the youngest Grand Prix winner by quite some way.

  
Carlos watched on as Max took to that podium, his eyes shining as he looked out at the crowd that was cheering for him. He watched as he was hoisted up onto the shoulders of the pit crew, as he hugged his father, as he was given round after round of congratulations. There were times where he caught the pure joy in his face and he couldn’t help but grin almost as widely as his best friend revelled in the happiness that came with the sweet taste of victory. He was aware he probably shouldn’t look so pleased at getting beaten, but it wasn’t as though he’d been a contender for the podium, even though he’d had a good race.

  
It was hours before Carlos managed to get close enough to Max to congratulate him. Most of the drivers were out in Barcelona, though Carlos did notice that Nico and Lewis were unsurprisingly absent, and the Dutchman was in higher spirits than he’d been in a while. There was a brief moment when Carlos caught him alone at the bar, the smile that he’d been wearing all evening still stuck to his face.

  
“Hey man,” he said, placing a hand on his arm to get his attention, Max turned to him, his grin blindingly cheerful, “Well done for today, really, well done.”

  
“Thanks Carlitos,” Max laughed slinging an arm around his friend, and squishing them together in a half hug, pressing his warm cheek to Carlos’ cool one. The Spaniard had to ignore the way his heartbeat sped up when he did that. He just blamed it on the alcohol.

  
They didn’t get a chance to speak one on one again that night, but Carlos didn’t think he’d forget the look on his face that night. He was sure that night in Barcelona would be the night everything changed for Max, and to everyone else it was, his name was printed in the history books forever now, but he didn’t realise that for Max, although it was one of the greatest moments of his life, it was also a mountain of pressure that came crashing down on top of him.

* * *

  
Max had thought, going into the Spanish Grand Prix, he’d handled the pressure well, all things considered. Of course the result was amazing, but he hadn’t panicked, he’d approached it like any other race, just in a different car. But he hadn’t done too badly there in 2015. Monaco was an entirely different ball game. He’d crashed out rather spectacularly the previous year, and while it hadn’t rattled him too much at the time, in the fortnight leading up to race it played on his mind constantly. Like a film reel on repeat in his head.

  
It wasn’t helped much at all by his dad, constantly breathing down his neck, reminding him of how much he had to lose, how proud of him he was, and how far he had to fall. He thought the move to Red Bull, his new seat in a top team would mean his father would back off a little, since he was right where he wanted him to be. But he was nothing short of relentless. Objectively, Max could appreciate that, but it wasn’t what he needed then. Getting to spend the two weeks leading up to the race at his home helped ease his frayed nerves, he found himself reaching for the phone to call his mother on a number of occasions, much preferring her constructive yet gentle encouragement to that of his father’s. Several times, usually when he lay awake at night, visualising the track in his mind so determined not to get it wrong this time, he contemplated calling Carlos. He could only ever get as far as picking the phone off his bedside table, his thumb hovering over the little symbol of a phone that sat next to his name, accompanied with a tiny Spanish flag and a stupid picture he couldn’t remember taking. Every time he decided against it, he’d see Carlos soon enough, and he didn’t need Max bothering him, interrupting his own training. Though he didn’t really think that Carlos would see it as a bother, he was nice like that.  
It was in those moments he found his mind wandering other places, in the darkness of night, completely alone, delirious from the lack of sleep, he couldn’t stop the image of a pair of piercing brown eyes from returning again and again. Often he thought back to the night in that bar in Barcelona, when he’d been drunk from both victory and champagne, of the way he’d pulled him close, and how he hadn’t been able to help but think how easy it would have been to just lean over and press their lips together. Those thoughts often brought with them a stifling sense of shame, and even though no one was around to see, and no one could possibly know what he was thinking, he always felt his cheeks grow flushed and red. He just blamed it on the usual frustrations of being a teenager, hormones and all stuff, that was the obvious excuse.

  
The race weekend approached at a speed far too rapid for even Max’s liking. And he didn’t get off to a good start. While his lap times in the practices were acceptable, qualifying was an entirely different story. It wasn’t a bad crash exactly, just a misjudgement on a corner and suddenly his suspension snapped and he found himself parked into the barrier. It did mean a pit lane start for the young Dutchman, and that wasn’t where he wanted to start his first race as the youngest Grand Prix winner ever. In a foul mood he left the track almost immediately, avoiding Daniel who was angling for a chat, and abandoning his plans of visiting the Toro Rosso garage.

  
Dinner that Saturday night was an awkward affair. His dad had ordered Thai food from a local restaurant and the two of them sat at opposite ends of the dining table, in stone cold silence, as Max struggled to swallow the food against the lump in his throat. Looking at his father across the room he wanted nothing more in that moment for him to break into a smile, say something along the lines of “well there’s always tomorrow” and pull him into a hug. But his eyes were fixed on his food, determinedly avoiding his son’s gaze, he only spoke when Max made to leave the room, fully intending on having a very very long shower and sleeping for as long as possible.

  
“This year can’t be a repeat of last,” he told him, grabbing onto his arm to stop him from walking away, knowing what his teenage soon could be like, “I mean it Max, you have a lot to live up to now. And you’re not a rookie anymore.”

  
Jos was looking at him now, and Max really wished he wouldn’t, those eyes that bore into him making him feel naked and vulnerable.

  
“I know Dad, I know,” he said, a little exasperatedly, eager to get away, not just because he had already had all these thoughts himself, but because his dad was squeezing his arm a little too tight and he didn’t want to be in the same room as him right now. As he’d gotten older he’d understood more and more clearly why his parent’s marriage had broken down, and why his mother refused to let Jos near her anymore. His temper was terrifying, not because it was explosive or volatile, but because it simmered, gently boiling, threatening to overflow but never quite getting there. It made Max feel like he was walking on glass, and one wrong move would spell disaster for him, it made his heart beat too fast and his skin itch, and at times like this he wanted nothing more than to run and run. And though he was good at managing these situations, always able to win his dad over by reminding him about how much he’d done for them, his father’s little champion, he couldn’t help but feel like one day he would get it wrong.

  
There was moment when Max thought his dad would say something else, but his gripped slackened and Max left the room as quickly as he could get away with. That night he slept fitfully, worry filling his gut, so unlike the feeling he usually associated with races. He was a little apprehensive most of the time, but usually he was just itching to get out on the track, rather than dreading it. The sun rose and Max felt as though he hadn’t slept a wink, but he made himself get up anyway, splashing his face with cold water and dragging himself into the shower.

  
From years of practice he was able to slip on a brave face, a cool, calm expression that didn’t let on that on the inside he was a bundle of nerves. It worked well, pundits even commenting on how collected he seemed to be. He felt his confidence rise a little at the pat on the back his dad gave him for his performance for the cameras. It was no secret that he had a tough race ahead of him, with all the positions he had to make up, so he let himself feel secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be judged too harshly if he only just made it into the points.

  
The race started well for Max, better than he’d expected, and he could feel his old focus, the determination that had been absent during qualifying returning to him. Zipping through the field, eating up positions he found himself in tenth, and felt sure that by the end of the race he would have gained a few more points to please his team, his father and himself. But luck was not on his side. The conditions were not ideal, though he’d handled them well. He’d been dealing with the half wet, half dry track reasonably well, or so he thought.

  
One miscalculation made him lock up and sent him into the barrier at quite a speed, with an awful clanging sound he bumped his way down the metal before finally coming to a halt. Not before he bashed his knee against the inside of the car, a mark that would surely bruise. For a few moments he sat completely still, almost unable to believe that the very thing he needed to happen to him least in the world, had actually happened.

  
“I crashed,” he couldn’t help but lament over the radio as he let his team know what had happened. Feeling disoriented from the crash and as the reality of the situation settled in, his ears were ringing and his head was pounding, he was only dimly aware of the stewards rushing towards the barrier, talking and motioning to him. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, and the edges of his vision were blurring, distantly he wondered whether he had bumped his head and not noticed. Eventually he looked up at the man leaning over the wall who was asking him if he was alright, slowly, probably a little too slowly for the medic’s liking, he gave him a thumbs up. His pride was more wounded than anything else.

  
With some difficulty, he finally got himself out of the car, trying to ignore all the cars that were passing him, and found himself sitting on the other side of the barrier, a medic pressing a cold stethoscope to his chest and making him follow his finger with his eyes. Max didn’t feel particularly injured or in pain, a little shaken maybe, but not hurt. The medic came to the same conclusion in the end, telling him that he was just in shock and clearing him to go back to the garage.

  
He tried his best to shake it off before he faced his team, and his head was almost clear by the time he got there, but he couldn’t rid himself of the weight of disappointment in his chest. The team weren’t angry with him, as a small part of him had feared, he just explained that he’d been pushing too hard, and that he’d learn from this. Which he would. It was just a bitter pill to swallow. After the debrief, his eyes trailed around the room until they landed on his father, who was stood in the corner, his arms folded, face entirely impassive. There was a moment when the two of them just stared at each other, until his dad shook his head sadly, and left the room. The look of utter disappointment and hurt on his face let Max know all he needed to. Luckily for him, he couldn’t dwell on it for too long before he was being pulled from the room by his PR to face the press.

  
There was plenty of time to dwell on it later though. Max couldn’t bear the thought of going out that night, his mood far too low to face interacting with people and forcing a smile onto his face. He knew what his mother would say, that the time out would do him some good and provide a distraction, but Max thought he deserved a night off. His dad never came back to the apartment that evening, so Max found himself alone in the vast rooms of his home, with nothing but his thoughts for company.

* * *

  
Monaco was always a tricky circuit for any driver, so Carlos was pleased with his result. In high spirits, it wasn’t until after he got out of the car that he remembered how he’d seen Max’s car parked by the side of the track, his best friend out of the race. Surely it wasn’t the way he wanted to follow up his victory in Spain. The thought sobered his mood a little, but he had to push it from his mind while he went through the usual routine of press and team debriefs. He’d also forgotten about it by the time he left the track, he’d never known Max to be one to get knocked down without getting back up again immediately, still he felt like it was the decent thing to do to check up on him. But he also couldn’t turn down the offer of dinner from the rest of the Toro Rosso team, so he had to promise himself that he wouldn’t forget to call in on Max’s apartment on his way home.

  
It was nearing eleven o’clock by the time he reached Max’s new apartment, although his friend had lived there for some time, Carlos had only been inside a number of times, so the interior was still unfamiliar to him. There was a chance that Max would have gone out, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to try. The concierge let him in, and from memory he took the lift to the fourth floor, and knocked on the door.

  
There was a sizeable pause, and Carlos was about to turn away, assuming he wasn’t in, when he heard the faint sound of the chain being undone on the other side of the wooden door.  
“Sorry if you-,” he started to apologise in case he was intruding when he stopped dead as he caught sight of his best friend. He’d seen him looking angry, and he’d seen him drunk off his face, he’d even seen him half dead on his feet trying desperately to fight off sleep. But he’d never seem like so…defeated or sad. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever even seen Max cry. His friend’s eyes were puffy and ringed with red, his cheeks were coloured with blotches of red, and his usually neat hair which was usually hidden beneath a hat was a mess that couldn’t decide which direction it was pointing in. He was still wearing the clothes he’d been doing press in earlier, and looking over his shoulder, Carlos could see the half empty bottle (of something no doubt alcoholic) sitting on the kitchen counter behind him.

  
“Max are you alright?” he said, his eyes wide with concern, fighting the urge to reach out in case Max was in an even worse mood than he looked and lashed out at the contact.  
“Yeah I’m fine,” he said, unconvincingly, his voice very quiet and his smile barely making his mouth move, “Did you want to come in? Or?”

  
Still a little shocked, and unsure of how to navigate the situation, Carlos just nodded and followed Max into the apartment shutting the door behind him. The combined living room and kitchen area was a little messy, but no more than he expected from Max. The wide rooms created loud echoes, so he could clearly hear the sound of his own footsteps and the uneven sounds of Max’s breathing. He was so used to their dynamic being fun and playful, occasionally tumultuous that he found himself at a complete loss for what to do.

  
“Is your dad in?” he finally asked, peering around as though Jos Verstappen would materialise around a corner at any second.

  
“No, he’s out somewhere,” Max said over his shoulder, not turning his body to look at Carlos so he couldn’t quite see his face. The vagueness of the word ‘somewhere’ told Carlos that Max didn’t actually know where his dad was, but he guessed that was one of the least of his worries at the moment.

  
Chewing on his lip Carlos let the silence stretch on, wanting to help, to comfort Max, but knowing that the Dutchman wasn’t going to admit that he was upset, even if it was completely obvious. Like he was approaching a frightened animal, not wanting to startle his friend, Carlos stepped towards him slowly, until he was close enough to lay a hand on his shoulder. Max still jumped despite how careful he’d been not to move too quickly. When he snapped his head round the Spaniard could see that his eyes were shining with unshed tears, and his hands which held onto the back of the sofa were trembling gently with the effort to keep the tears locked inside. If Carlos knew anything about Max and the attitude that had been instilled in him, it was that showing weakness was not an option for him, his father had made perfectly sure of that. It was a concept very foreign to the passionate Spaniard, who believed very firmly that keeping things built up inside was the worst thing you could do.

  
“It’s okay,” Carlos told him in a hushed whisper, “I’m here.”

  
With a surprising willingness, Max let go of the sofa and wrapped his arms around the torso of his best friend who stood beside him, pressing his face into his shoulder, muttering something inarticulately, possibly in Dutch so Carlos had no chance of understanding it. Carlos had expected more resistance, perhaps some yelling or aggression, it caught him so off guard that it took him a few seconds to respond and hug his best friend close, feeling his body shaking slightly as he cried quietly, the sounds muffled by the material of Carlos’ shirt. That small, almost pitiful sound made his heart ache, actually physically ache, as Carlos moved his hand to softly stroke the hair on the back of his head, hoping he found the action somewhat comforting.  
Clearly feeling a little embarrassed, it didn’t take Max long to pull away, sniffing a little, and rubbing his hand with the palm of his hand. Carlos tried to give him a small smile, but he was sure it just came out looking like a grimace.

  
“Do you want to sit?” he asked, keeping his voice low and motioning towards the sofa with a flick of his head. Max didn’t verbalise his response and just nodded instead as they both took their seats next to each other. The sofa looked out through the huge patio windows which led onto a balcony, over which they could see the bright lights of Monte Carlo, and if it had been daylight, the ocean too. Both of them sat in silence for a while, looking out at the view, until Max finally piped up.

  
“I should have done better today,” he mumbled and Carlos turned to look at him, though he kept his gaze fixed ahead, “After Spain and everything, people expected better. The fans, the press, the team, my dad, me. I let them all down.”

  
Carlos didn’t know what to say, it was true that expectations and the pressure had been high. But that didn’t make him a failure. He just didn’t know how to tell him that. Though it seemed that he wasn’t finished speaking yet.

  
“I don’t deserve the seat at Red Bull,” he finally whispered, his voice quieter than ever. His head dropped to look at his hands which were twisting themselves together in discomfort.

  
“Yes you do,” Carlos argued, careful to keep his voice somewhat calm even though he felt fired up at Max’s insinuation, “You’re only eighteen you’re going to make mistakes, that’s okay. You’re going to be better than everyone, we all know it. It’s okay that you aren’t there yet. You’re going to be one of the legends Max.”

  
And he meant it too, though it was a grand pronouncement, that didn’t make it any less true. When Max finally looked up at him, his expression more hopeful than it had been a few minutes ago, Carlos gave him a nod of sincerity, to show how serious he was being. He expected Max to say something, though he wasn’t sure what. He didn’t expect him to surge towards him without hesitation, placing his hands on either side of Carlos’ face and press their lips together with a surprising urgency.

  
The kiss was messy and rushed, their teeth clashed together and their noses bumped into one another, but that didn’t make it any less sweet or honest. Truthfully, Carlos had known, deep down, how he would feel if this had ever happened, and the soaring of his heart only confirmed that. But the truth had been so deeply buried he was a little taken aback at the realisation of how much he wanted this.

  
“Max,” he murmured against his lips, mostly in surprise, but a little just in recognition that this was really happening, that he was kissing his best friend. But the Dutchman clearly took that as his cue to stop, he pulled away looking mildly horrified at what he had done, and a little sick too.

  
“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, his hands still cupping Carlos’ face, his eyes wide with terror, his face flushed but slowly turning sheet white.

  
“No, no,” Carlos placed one hand on Max’s wrist to keep it in place, letting him know it was alright, “It’s okay.”

  
Slower this time, and much more carefully, he kissed him, constantly aware of where the boundaries might lie and determined not to overstep them. Once again he was surprised at how right it felt, how this was what he was meant to do.

  
“I don’t-, I didn’t mean…I’m not-…,” Max pulled away and started to stammer, obviously trying to explain what it was they were doing, and why. But Carlos didn’t think he had the energy or the words to discuss it, he didn’t understand it himself, and in that moment he didn’t especially care about understanding it.

  
“It’s not important right now, we don’t have to think about it.”


	2. rising.

Max had never been one to sit still and let life drag him along. He liked to grab it with both hands and pull it kicking and screaming into whatever was coming next. But recently, things had been moving so fast even the restless teenager couldn’t keep up. The victory in Spain, the crushing defeat in Monaco, the respectable fourth place finish in Canada, and only a week to turn things round for Baku. It didn’t help that he had issues other than racing rushing about in his head, threatening to knock his focus. In his, admittedly short, life he hadn’t ever had much worries besides where he was going to finish in the next race. And anything else that weighed on his mind always came back to racing. Max’s life revolved around his career, he hadn’t known what it would mean to find something else crowding the picture, clouding his judgement. And it both terrified and confused him that it was Carlos who was occupying his thoughts, that confused, drunken night at his apartment back in Monaco, things he’d done that he meant and didn’t mean to do.

He had been worried that his foolish mistake would mean a repeat of the weeks leading up to the Spanish Grand Prix when Carlos had avoided him, and Max had thought a rift would open up in their friendship. But Carlos seemed to have carried on as though nothing had happened, brushed off the kiss as just emotions getting the better of Max. The notion left him feeling more conflicted than ever. While he would happily not talk about it, and everything that the kiss had stirred in him, and all it meant. He also didn’t want Carlos to think of it as just a kiss and nothing more, because in his heart he knew that was far from the truth.

He trod a dangerous line in his thoughts, one he was scared to death of crossing. While he replayed that kiss over and over again in his thoughts, how unexpectedly soft Carlos’ lips had been on his, and how his stubble had tickled the palms which held his face, what he did not do was revisit the way his heart had jumped when he’d felt Carlos respond, nor did he ponder on how his face still flushed when he let his thoughts linger for too long. He kept any and all feelings pushed down, buried deep inside, because he didn’t want to, he couldn’t let them be real. He couldn’t let the kiss be more than a drunken mistake.

Once he arrived in Baku, his first Grand Prix without his dad accompanying him, he didn’t realise how much he’d needed a break from his overbearing presence. He physically felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he knew that him and the mechanics would have a much easier time without him around. Sometimes he thought he spent too much time with his dad, and felt like his father had the ability to see right through him and through any lies he hid behind, which he didn’t need with the confusion going on in his own head. It would be interesting to race at a completely new track, no doubt challenging, but Max felt like he could use that.

The hotel that the drivers were staying at was as amazing as ever, perhaps a little high for Max’s liking, who found his stomach doing somersaults when he looked out of the window down onto the road below. So much taller than his second floor apartment in Monaco he only admired the view for a moment or so before moving away and staring at his closed suitcase, knowing he should unpack but feeling rather like he could use a nap to counteract the jetlag which was creeping up on him. But before he could make any moves to bury himself beneath the covers there was a knock on the door, sharp and cheerful.

“Carlos!” he said in surprise once he opened the door to find his ex-teammate standing on the other side smiling.

“Max!” he replied, copying Max’s surprised tone exaggeratedly, eliciting a laugh from the Dutchman.

“How did you know which room I was in?” he asked, frowning a little, having only been in Baku for a few hours, though he knew Carlos had been in the city for a few more days.

“I asked the reception, have you eaten yet? I’m starving,” he said swaying a little on the balls of his feet, looking a little awkward to be left out in the hallway, talking rapidly.

“Uh no, I haven’t.”

“Awesome, room service it is,” Carlos said, finally deciding to just let himself into the room, picking the menu up from the table by the door as he made his way over to the double bed in the middle of the room. Max laughed a little as his friend made himself at home, shutting the door and joining Carlos to pour over their choices.

It wasn’t until he found himself leaning into Carlos, their arms and legs touching that he realised this was the first time they’d spoken to each other, bar texting and one phone call, since the night at his apartment. But if Carlos felt the same awkwardness that Max did, he didn’t let it show.

In the end the two of them decided on pizza, preferring to play it safe after steering clear of the more exotic sounding Azerbaijani dishes. Trying not to let the thoughts that had been plaguing him for the past few days make a reappearance, the two of them fell into easy conversation, mostly about the weekend ahead, but also what they’d been up to since they’d last seen each other. It was almost like they were teammates again, meeting each other for the first time and talking about anything and everything for hours on end.

Carlos was halfway through an anecdote about Fernando and a round of mini golf when there was a knock at the door, signalling the arrival of their food, which Max took from the smiling waitress gratefully. There was a lull in conversation as the two of them turned their attention to satisfying their hunger. Max didn’t mean to, but he found himself watching Carlos, probably a little more than he should have been, his eyes honing in on the little crease between his eyebrows as he concentrated on not dropping any of his cheese, and despite himself, he found he was grinning.

“What?” Carlos asked him with a smile, glancing up to meet his eyes and finding himself being watched.

“Nothing, nothing,” Max said rather hurriedly, turning his attention back to his food, hoping his embarrassment didn’t show on his face. He took extra care not to look at Carlos for the rest of their meal, but as soon as he did that he couldn’t shake the feeling that now he was the one being watched, but didn’t dare look up to either confirm or deny his suspicions.

The somewhat awkward silence continued as the two of them concentrated on finishing their food, the entirety of Max’s concentration on the plate sitting on his lap rather than the boy sat next to him. By the time he finished, he looked up to see Carlos watching him lazily, his own plate having been relegated to the floor, and he had clearly been waiting for his friend to catch up.

“All done?” he asked good-naturedly, taking the now empty plate from Max’s lap, who nodded in reply, “Good I want to show you something.”

He held his hand out for Max, who took it with only a moment’s hesitation, and let himself be pulled to his feet. The contact made his face flush and he could only hope that Carlos wouldn’t look at him and catch the flustered expression he wore, once he was standing Carlos let go of his hand, and despite his initial embarrassment, Max wished he hadn’t. There was a moment where he contemplated reaching out, but they hadn’t even discussed the kiss, and he didn’t want to go too far. And to do that would require an admittance, even just to himself, that his feelings for Carlos went beyond platonic. And the implications of that made his head spin.

Following Carlos through the corridors he didn’t think to ask where they were going until they got in the vertigo-inducing glass lift. Staying as far away from the sides as possible, he eyed his best friend warily.

“What was it you wanted to show me?” he asked cautiously as they soared upwards and upwards, at a rather astonishing speed.

“You’ll see.”

The lift finally came to a stop on what was practically the top floor and the two of them exited, Carlos leading the way again as he opened a door out onto a balcony and Max finally realised just how high up they were. The wind hit his face hard, making him wince slightly, as the door swung shut behind him. Carlos shot him a look over his shoulder, wearing a wide smile as his long hair whipped around his face, for the second time that night he held his hand out for Max. This time he didn’t hesitate before taking it, and let his friend pull him towards the edge.

The wind roared in his ears, making it hard to hear, but he could still make out the distant sound of his beating heart, thumping in anxiety as he peered over the edge, the weightless feeling of vertigo taking over.

“Christ,” he whispered, blowing out a breath, most of the feeling disappearing from his legs. Like before, Carlos made to let go of his hand but Max held on tight, squeezing it probably a little too hard as he looked down the side of the building and out over the paddock in the dimming evening light.

“You okay?” he heard Carlos ask, and looked up to see his eyes were on the boy next to him, rather than the spectacular view in front of him. The shift in his line of sight made his vision go blurry for a moment, the Spaniard’s face swimming in front of him, making him tighten his grip on his hand.

“Yeah, yeah, I just…don’t really like heights,” he said, his voice coming out a little breathless, more than he intended it to, and he could only attribute part of that to the heights. The rest was entirely due to the hand he held in his own.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have if I did,” Carlos practically fell over himself trying to apologise, giving Max’s hand a comforting squeeze, “We can go back inside if you like?”

“No, it’s okay. It’s quite nice,” he said trying to sound calm and collected, privately he was just glad for the time alone with Carlos. This would have been the perfect opportunity to discuss what had happened, and what it meant. Whether it meant anything at all. A silence settled over the pair for the second time tonight, and Max found himself gripping onto the metal bar tightly, his other hand still clasped in Carlos’, he was shaking ever so slightly, though he tried hard to hide it.

“Max,” Carlos said softly, after an insurmountable amount of time passed, and he didn’t say anything else until Max turned to look at him. His expression was one of concentration, at least that was how Max interpreted it, like he was thinking very, very hard about something.

“Yes?” was the quiet reply that came after Carlos didn’t say anything else. Under his intense gaze Max found his heartbeat picking up again, and this time it had absolutely nothing to do with the heights. He swallowed hard, his mouth feeling oddly dry.

“Can I kiss you?” the words fell from his mouth, barely audible, and Max’s nod was small but certain. As Carlos pulled on their clasped hands to close the distance between them, Max didn’t think he’d felt so terrified in his whole life, but he also didn’t think he’d wanted anything more. His fingers tingled, like they were charged with crackling electricity, and the moment their lips touched, he felt like a blown fuse, his mind screaming in incoherent joy and he thought his heart would surely burst. In that one glorious moment he couldn’t quite work out how to react. Unlike their first kiss, which he only half remembered but could recall it had been messy and rushed and clumsy, this one was imperceptibly gentle, every touch feather light and slow. Finding his courage, Max moved his free hand to the back of Carlos’ neck, so he could pull them closer together, smiling lightly when he felt the soft hair and wound it round his finger.

Apparently the moment couldn’t last forever, and Max felt a waterfall of unwelcome thoughts come tumbling down on him, like the fact that he was kissing Carlos, who was not only his best friend, but also male. Panic taking hold of his mind, he pulled away hastily, the moment shattering like glass. He looked into Carlos’ concerned face, and was momentarily overcome with the feeling of wanting to cry, because he loved him, he really loved him. And he didn’t want to.

“I’m not gay,” he said, his voice a tiny whisper, he wasn’t even sure if Carlos could hear him over the wind. Realising he still held his hand, he pulled it free and took a step away from him, using the railing of the balcony to propel himself backwards, “A-anyone could see us, up here, this isn’t, we shouldn’t have.”

He was lying, both to himself and to his best friend, and they both knew it, the words sounded false even as he said them, and left a bitter taste in his mouth. And the worst part was that Carlos wasn’t angry with him, or even frustrated, he actually looked a little pitying.

“Max, Max,” he said, his voice level and calming, “No one comes up here, trust me, no one saw, it’s okay.”

Glancing around, as Carlos said, the balcony was completely empty apart from the two of them, and the window in the door they had come out of showed a deserted corridor. Breathing hard, he felt himself relax a little, no one had seen, that was one less thing he had to worry about, but it didn’t change the fact that it had happened. The drunken kiss in Monaco was simpler to explain away, he had been drunk and upset, it didn’t have to mean anything. This was different. He was stone cold sober, and he hadn’t kissed him because he’d wanted to be comforted, but because the simple truth was that he liked him. A lot.

“I…” he started, though he didn’t have anything to say that he could actually get passed his lips.

“If you didn’t want to do that, that’s okay, you didn’t have to say yes,” Carlos said slowly, clearly confused as to what was going on in Max’s head.

“No! No, I did want to,” he admitted in a small voice, slowly working himself up to the truth. It was obvious once he’d stopped long enough to think about it, he couldn’t think of a time where he’d honestly had a crush on a girl, though it was easy to write it off as him being too focused on his racing, it wasn’t the same thing. And whatever he felt for Carlos, that was genuine, that was real.

“Okay…” Carlos said, still puzzled, but a small glimmer of hope had appeared in his eyes. They still stood about a foot or so apart, and neither of them made a move to close the gap, though he would have bet that they both wanted to.

“It’s just,” he started, taking one deep shaky breath, “I like you, a-and I don’t regret what happened, but I don’t know what that makes me, and I-I don’t want to tell people.”

It was a very childish response, to be so determinedly shying from the truth, but he could only hope that Carlos understood. He turned away so he didn’t have to look Carlos in the eye, and pushed down the fear that the sight of being so high above the city stirred in him. In his head he ran through a million and one scenarios where he told people ‘I’m gay’ and not all of them were good, he didn’t doubt that his friends and his sister would accept it wholeheartedly. But he couldn’t say the same for the media and for his parents. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell anyone until you’re ready. You don’t even have to decide on anything until you want to,” Carlos finally said, sidling up to him and lazily slinging one arm across his shoulder, the way they’d done so many times before. But this time it just felt different, but Max made no move to shrug him off.

“I know, thank you,” he said resisting the urge to lean his head on Carlos’ shoulder.

“And if it makes you feel any better, I like you too,” Carlos said, his voice lower, and Max could hear the smile he wore even though he couldn’t see his face. He laughed quietly, feeling a little weight dissipating from his shoulders.Maybe this would be enough.


End file.
